Mistake
by TheStrangeBelief
Summary: It was a mistake, but she didn't want to let it go...Bellatrix/Lucius, Narcissa/Lucius.


mistake

A/N: This is basically a huge over-500 word stream-of-consciousness, Bellatrix/Lucius monstrosity, somewhat narrated by Bellatrix. (We can hear her thoughts, but not Lucius's.) I like to think of her reliving this whole thing while she's shit-ass drunk. This is why it's not standard grammar. This is not a continuation of 'whisper', it's a whole new thing entirely. Don't own HP, please review. Thanks.

bella and lucius were best friends, and they would always be best friends, he was someone she could lean on and talk to, she was someone who would watch his back and give him advice, but that was all they would be, _bellatrix, I will not have you running around like that with the malfoy boy,_she was for rodolphus lestrange, and he was for her little sister, narcissa with her golden looks and fresh beauty, _everything bellatrix was supposed to be and everything she would never be,_ she was dark sensuous black-haired and wild, _I long to break out from this irksome prison,_a cat with claws among society, and it was really a huge mistake, he had come out of his room, clothes and hair mussed, looking aroused and annoyed,_fucking hell, bellatrix, tell me what I'm doing wrong with her,_ she had nodded and offered him bits of vague advice, as he went on, _she's so fucking cold now, bella, and I don't know __why,_she remembered there was a bottle of firewhiskey brought out, graceful fingers swirling the amber liquid as he talked, _she was not one for niceties, down the hatch it went,_he'd unbuttoned his shirt, untied his long blond, almost white hair, _wonder what it would be like to run my hands through it,_she listened patiently, _I don't know what to do,_and then he had leaned over and kissed her hard on the lips, he tasted bittersweet, _clean lips tinged by the sting of alcohol,_she leaned into him and he groaned, _oh bellatrix, we really shouldn't,_and she had told him, _but we are,_ and the rest was buttons flying, fabric ripping, hard caresses, and then it was really just soft skin, pressed together, and moving to a beat that was both ancient and yet brand new, _she was a virgin, and so was he,_ it was awkward, and heated, but she wouldn't trade it for anything, and when they were done, she and lucius had lain side by side, just talking and staring at the sky through the windows, _hey, there's your constellation, bella,_talking to him was just right, as comfortable and easy as breathing, but afterwards there was something strange that hovered over their light conversation, _awkward silences no one wants to notice,_like an intruder that was always lurking on the outskirts of things, the one that said, _this was a mistake and meant absolutely nothing._

You'd think they would have learned, but they didn't, and the second time was when lucius had gone to her room again, eyes aflame and face contorted in anger, _your sister's a cheating bitch, bella_,and this time bella was prepared, she'd set up a makeshift bar on her desk, _glasses on the left, two bottles of firewhiskey, and a dulled skewer for stirring,_as soon as she heard the words, she'd gone to work, pouring the whiskey into glasses, trying to hide her thoughts, _oh, cissy, how could you,_cap the bottle, _you know he wanted you and loved you,_ place bottle back into its corner, _you had his heart and you spat on it,_reach for skewer from opposite side of desk, _why did you do this to him,_stir the drink, _why why why why,_here you go, lucius, and tell me what she did, while the words still beat out a relentless rhythm in her brain, threatening to escape and make her head explode, _maybe it wouldn't be so bad, actually, I can't think anymore really,_and as he talked, bella saw the glint of tears in his eyes, _oh merlin, it hurts me too, you know,_everything that hurt him hurt her a thousand times worse, she went over to him and hugged him, telling him it'd be okay, _even though they both knew it wouldn't ever be again,_he cried and she held him tighter, feeling a single tear slip down her cheek, lucius had looked up then, and asked her why she was crying, _it's nothing, lucius,_and then he'd kissed her, and this time it was gentle and sweet, and so was the sex, all soft touches, the gentle easing of fabric off of bodies, and slow but heady beats as they connected their bodies, _she cried into his shoulder as she came,_and he had held her until morning, cooing nonsensical sweet nothings into her ear, slipping out like the dawn, she'd woken up missing something, curled around an empty space, _like something that was part of her and then ripped forcibly away._

They did not talk, and the months quickly passed, until it was the week before lucius and narcissa's wedding, bella felt like she was choking on something that made her stomach hollow and her throat sick, _she couldn't look at narcissa without wanting to throw up anymore,_and when regulus had asked her what was going on, _bella, why don't you smile anymore,_she didn't know if it was crazy or suicidal or just plain stupid, _or maybe it was all three,_but she told him everything, told everything to a thirteen year-old, and he was the one who wrapped his sickly little arms around her as she sobbed and wiped her nose, _it was wrong, reg, but then I fell just a little in love with him and it became more,_the one who held her long hair back as she vomited into the toilet, because she'd gotten disgustingly drunk when she had heard her mother and narcissa discussing wedding seating, _why wasn't it me, reg, why wasn't it me,_the one who tucked the blankets over her prone body, as she fell asleep, dreams of golden white hair and wisps of white chiffon emblazoned in her mind, just like her love, which festered and twisted inside of her, as the date got closer.

The bridesmaids' dress was lavender and wispy, and bellatrix decided she didn't like it, because, even as the maid of honor, she still had to wear the disgusting concoction of chiffon and silk and lace, and mostly she didn't like what she saw when she looked in the mirror, _a sunken, hollow beauty lost inside of herself,,_bella hadn't eaten in weeks, and her face was all angles now, her skin pulled tight, and her eyes slanted and large, _she looked like some pitiful wraith that had died a thousand and one years ago, waiting for someone to let her in,_so her dress looked like it was eating her, swallowing up her pale décolletage and neck, and the elaborate updo her mother had wrangled her hair into made her face look thin and sharp and sad, the shadows underneath her eyes prominent, as she followed narcissa, holding up the train of her white dress, and wishing she could stab her sister with the heel of her stiletto, _pure black blood spurting out as she dug the sharp knife into the corrupted porcelain flesh,_but she holds in that wild monster that yearns to break free, the one that causes her fists to clench involuntarily as those old biddies gossip,_aren't they the most beautiful couple,_and as much as she hates to admit it, they're right, _and that's what makes it worse,_the one that causes her to suck in her breath, as he tells narcissa, I do, and then it's really all over for her now, the could-beens and might-have-happeneds all dead and gone, _flashes of a black haired child, running to his parents, one fair and one dark-haired, the cries of 'mother' to a dark-haired woman who is her, only older, the adoration in the man's eyes as he looks upon her,_WHAT COULD HAVE BEEN, what could have been, what could have been, if she had told him earlier, after all, in terms of marriage, one Black sister was no different from another, and the one that makes her flee to the ladies' room to cry as she watches them at their table, at the reception, _so fucking sweet it's giving her a coronary,_she's giggling in a proper, girlish way, feeding him chunks of wedding cake, and he's playing the part of faux-annoyed but adoring husband, smiling at her as the well-wishers converge on the golden couple, while it's her who stands outside, looking into their world, _because, really, she ceased being a part of it since his lips first touched hers,_and here she sits, on the cold floor, tears smearing her makeup and face, _a twisted version of beauty,_and chiffon skirts spread out on her legs, crying for what could have been

It's pride that keeps her from screaming out loud, _because it's chaos in her head right now,_as she walks up to _them_, to wish them her best, pasting a smile on her face, _you see that smile? That laugh—it's all fake and pretense,_and trying to make her voice sound natural and not raspy, like she'd spent the past hour sobbing out that beating organ called her heart in the lavatory, and was she supposed to walk quite that fast, just one foot in front of the other, bella, _easy as pie_, left foot, right, left, right, and now she's standing at the edge of the cliff, facing her monster, and smiles tritely at narcissa, trying to convey everything in a glance of black-brown eyes,_don't you ever hurt him, narcissa—if I cannot have him, I'll be content—perfectly content, to watch over him, and until then, I'll be good, but the moment he turns his back on you or you do anything to hurt him, I'll rip your heart from your chest and drain the blood from it,_pearly blue eyes look back at her in shock, widening, and she seems to ask, _sister, what have I done to deserve your ire,_but too bad, because bellatrix's not telling, it's her secret, and all hers, and then she turns to lucius, telling him she wishes him a wonderful marriage with her sister and pretty golden-haired children in the future, before shooting him a look that tells him, _falling in love with you was a mistake, just like that night, only I loved that mistake too much to let it go, but now, I'm letting you go—even though I know, I know you will not come back to me,_and perhaps he understands and perhaps he doesn't, because he nods stiffly and tells her thanks, and as bellatrix turns away, she thinks, _this is not my lucius—I'll have him yet, for I keep him around me, in my heart, as that perfect, golden-haired eighteen year-old boy,_ and apparates to the graveyard nearby, sitting amongst the tombstones, an eerie silence brooding over the whole thing, _that part of lucius will be the one I keep with me, he has much more in common with me than myself, because he is me, my secret self,_and then she smiles, because now she understands.


End file.
